Bookshop Blues
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: Hell if I knew where she went, she probably went back to England, the land of the phonies.


Hmph, I really don't get why I have to tell you about my goddamn experiences that led to my decline before Pencey. I didn't exactly fall out, y'know. I got the axe. That's the problem with the damn world nowadays; everyone thinks it's your own damn fault. Like I told Spencer, I'm fine with whatever crap the goddamn universe can throw at me. They're all pretty much phonies anyway. The world is too arrogant to see things my way.

Geez, I hate those types of people who think they can control because they are older and supposedly more experienced than you. Big deal. God, it makes me want to hijack a gun and shoot myself in front of those goddamn people and watch as my blood splatters them. It would be funny to see their faces, but I'm too yellow to do that. Actually, I'm pretty yellow at most things. Not like I'm proud of it or anything, but still.

Anyways, it was a lousy day in the middle of November, about a week from Thanksgiving, if I recall. The leaves were falling; everything was coated in dull orange, crummy red, and puking yellow. It was kind of depressing. Why did the world have to change all the freaking time? I can't stop people from changing, but what about the damn world? It was times like these that I knew I had to get away to a place that never changed.

'Course, I couldn't just cut a course, could I? In that dumb school, Pencey, I was forced to take this class, Oral Expression, which was for egotistical morons who had nothing better to do, but STICK TO THE POINT. And it was damn near in every conversation. The teacher that headed that dumbass subject was Mr. Vinson. God, he got on my nerves by telling kids like me and this poor kid and class not to digress and all that. Damn him. Nothing more than a phony who knew his way 'round words, unlike us insignificant beings that at least had some ORIGINALITY. I swear, I'm going to develop the grippe, come into class, and sneeze in front of their faces. It won't be till much later when those bastards develop their own form of the grippe. It ain't clean, but it'll do the job.

So, I was walking down the street, away from the phony infested Pencey and into town. I didn't intend to make a scene by acting stupid; I more or less strolled along casually to the bookstore.

Boy, you should've been there to see the dingy old shop. Every once in a while, I would've found myself walking over to that godforsaken place. It was planted sort of near the street where any blasted car could crash into it. It was like a bunch of phony boxes that looked identical, and then a pretty diamond all by itself. Hell, it was no pretty gem to stare at too long, but I enjoyed the sudden air of originality. But boy! The name of the shop is pretty hypocritical when I say 'original!' Wonderful Wonder World, that's what it was called. I figured the guy who owned the dump must have been a poet or had a natural talent for alliteration. I always wanted to meet the owner.

When I stepped into the dim shop—well it had a little light. However, it wasn't so much dark, my eyes had yet to adjust. I took in the musty scent of moldy books and let me tell ya, I felt safe. The Three W's wouldn't save me from a bombing, but hell, this would be a perfect hideout for me.

If I were to hide out in that damn place, I probably wouldn't have died. I had all the necessities in life; books, seclusion from all the phonies, and clocks. You should've been there. If the guy wasn't a poet, he clearly was a clockmaker. Rows upon rows of clocks were lined up on the west side of the building, right where the unattended cashier register was. On the east side from where I was observing, I there was hundreds of books, and if you were feeling adventurous, you would find a clock or two in the shelves.

Given that the clocks were ticking at the damn same rate, I found it eerie. It was odd, y'know. You would have expected some kind of other human being in the lonesome shop. Well, the other times I ventured to the Three W's, there was this guy with greying hair and nervous posture. No kidding, He was all fidgety and wild-eyed whenever a person came in, namely me. With all that dust collecting and the overall dreariness of the mechanical rhythm, I guess nobody decided to come and pay their respects.

I looked at the counter, and then at the counter, and finally at the black chair where the man would usually sit. It was a tired looking thing that looked ragged and old. It was kind of a black couch with dirty yellow stuffing erupting from the seams. Damn, if it weren't for the depressed look the worker usually wore; I would've thought he didn't want customers. Would've applauded him on his efforts, though.

A few minutes passed, and I realized how melancholic the chair must have felt without anyone to warm it up. Then, I got this idea I wanted to try. Hell, knew it was childish and way too old for someone like me, but I wanted to spend Oral Expression foolin' around just for the hell of it.

So, I leaped over the counter and sat myself on the clearly dead cushioning. Damn, now I knew why he liked sitting in the goddamned chair. It made my body feel higher than the rest of the world. It made me feel elevated. It made me feel powerful. Damn, I felt good.

Since I pretty much broke store policy, I decided to take it farther. Grinning like a stupid idiot—which I am, even though I'm sexy and all—I put my feet on top of the glass counter. Boy, I felt the power that the store clerk had while I sat there like a goddamn prince. Wait'll I'll tell ol' Ackley and Stradlater about this! Damn, no wonder he put up with the world's phonies, it was like heaven.

'Course, all good things come to waste in the end. That's what I don't like about the world, all people have to change. Whether or not you like it, the goddamn bastard called life has to go on. Same thing with that damn tick-tock white noise. How can a person spend his entire life listening to that racket!

The clocks reminded me of the time I got onto the bad side of one of my old teachers. Y'see, back before the trouble of boarding schools and all that crap, there was this dumb blonde with humongous knockers. I forgot her stupid name, and I really don't care. The dumb broad was a phony because all she ever did was promote 'peace and harmony in her class.' _Peace and harmony_ my ass! There was this colored kid who was being bullied by this taller, older kid. Apparently, the older kid was accusing the colored kid of stealing his dough. Psshaw…. How can a kid, less than half your size, with a mind of a newborn babe, take your dough!

Naturally, I was pissed that the kid was harassing the guy. I was also yellow at that time. But, y'know, seeing that poor colored kid bawl his heart out, it was depressing. I damn near scarred the bully for life when I punched his nose. And I damn near got myself suspended when that dumb broad found out what I had done.

She was SO stupid, she began blaming the poor colored kid for all he trouble! Seriously, how is that possible! So, I began defending the little bastard and that woman said, and I quote," Just cause you a little colored boy, don't mean you got special privileges!" She spat out that sentence all mean-like and for a minute there, I was damn terrified. "We hafta maintain the peace of our family." She didn't speak in proper grammar.

Bullshit. That's what she meant. She didn't give a damn for of what we wanted, only for the paycheck. I swear, money should be outlawed. Anyways, the colored kid and I had to stay in for recess for 'unnecessary squabbling and bending of the rules.' Even the punishment sounded phony. Why did they have to rename our supposed wrongdoings with something that seemed _really _wrong? And all I had to listen to was the wretched sound of his sniveling and the ticking of the clock. Damn its sweet music.

Although, as I sat there brooding over the past, I could hear the little pitter-patter of footsteps at some corner of the shop break into the monotone of the metronomes. Don't ask me how I heard the tiniest sound through all that noise. Maybe it had something to do with adapting in my environment. Hell, maybe God made a mistake and I should've been born as an animal. I really didn't care.

At that time, I thought it was the old man finally checking up on the front of the blasted place. I remember looking at my wristwatch, which read 1:25. Oral Expression was pretty much done except for the odd little minutes people forget to incorporate into their agenda. That was another thing that I hate about people. They're so prejudiced against the insignificant small numbers. Everybody has to round to zero or five. What ever happened to three, one, or nine for chrissakes!

Tch. Because of my inference, I decided to lounge on the couch for a little bit. Why not gove the old man a scare, eh? It wasn't as if I stole anything. So, all casual and suave, I decided to wait out the guy's presence. And then I saw her.

Boy! You couldn't have described her without getting tongue tied with love! She was looking might fine with that cute periwinkle dress that flounced whenever she took a step and her cute apron at the front. Damn, her figure wasn't too sexy, but she pulled off the cute look way too nicely. I'm not kidding. Take Phoebe for instance. With my mother's fashion choices and her skater figure, but the girl in blue…Boy, she was killer.

That's when I realized my feet were still resting on the counter. I hurriedly maneuvered my feet off the glass, but I was so quick on the uptake that I ended up acquainting myself with the floor. Jesus Christ, girls were way too pretty for their own good.

"Well hello there," she said. The girl had a nice sounding tone of voice, and I felt guilty that I dirtied the counter. A slender hand with some type of dark blue cloth wrapped around her wrist was extended towards me. Being the gentleman I was, and still am, I took her offer of helping me up. People need to do that more often. Not rejecting someone's urge to help you, I mean.

"Hello to you too." I pulled out a hand. "Brendan Marshall." I knew I messed up on the formalities, but I aimed to shoot the moon.

She took my hand as if greeting an old friend, a slight frown creasing the edges of her fragile eyebrows. Funny. This girl was funny. She wasn't exactly phony, heck, her eyes were filled with this thing…something that phonies don't have, but little kids do. I couldn't exactly explain that specific detail, but I felt guilty for lying to her. But you know me; I'm a jerk when it comes to the goddamn truth.

"Pleasure, my name is Alice Liddel," she looked sincere and peaceful when she uttered her name. "What brings you here?" It wasn't until the last word that I realized that she had an accent. She spoke every word that came out of her mouth in that snobbish way all British people do, but in a way that made her goddamn adorable.

"You new here? I've never seen you before," I asked. I even gave her the eye a little for extra measure in case she felt uncomfortable. She seemed oblivious to my actions, however.

"Yes, dear friend brought me here," her eyes—if possible—lit up like stars on a starry night. I don't know, but I felt this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I probably shouldn't show how attractive I was, but damn, I wanted to cause a pretty smile to be on her face.

When I didn't say anything to add to the conversation, she sort of eyed me a bit. Not like she thought I was sexy or anything, but just to get some information in mind about me. She was an intellectual, I could tell. And not a phony one too. After a few moments of uncomfortable ogling, she seemed to snap out of her little trance and she sorta glared at me.

"You're not cutting school, are you?" Alice's eyes flashed with motherly concern. That killed me. I mean, how man ladies out there start caring about your education after a minute's worth of conversation?

"Look at my hair," I said. I showed her my greying hair and she kind of touched it lightly. God, she killed me. "Do I look like that I should be in school?"

Her light brown locks moved along with her shaking movements.

"Brendan, I think you should go back. You could be missing out on opportunities that could affect your future."

Suddenly, I felt cold and bitterness take hold on my throat. To this day, I still wonder why. I felt that I should take charge. Maybe I had to get away. In that moment, the clocks were getting all damn annoying; it was getting into my head. It hurt like hell.

I had to get away before the damned dust gets into my lungs and suffocates me.

"Where do I go? There's no place for me," I choked out. It was true, if I got the axe at Pencey, my parents would burn me alive.

"Everyone and everything has a place." Something glittered in her eyes. "We all have roles to play in the big game of life."

I desperately wanted to leave and never come back, but I didn't want to act like a goddamn prince to such a nice girl.

"Role? What role? Chrissakes, what the hell is that supposed to mean!" I was practically yelling at Alice, but I was fed up with all the problems in my life. I had to let it all out.

"Brendan," she touched my arm gently, like I was a five year old. Again, as she stared sympathetically into my eyes with innocence and kindness, I regretted my blatant lie. "Forgive me if I'm being cryptic." Her voice seemed to get soft and reminiscent as she smiled a pained grin. "Where do the ducks go in the winter?"

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I laughed real loud when she said that. However, I still remained uneasy and choked up from earlier. She looked at me funny, as if she was staring into the eyes of a disobedient child. Looking at me that way, it made me feel like that she was examining me, trying to look deep into my soul. Damn, that babe could knock you off your feet just by staring.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she seemed to murmur. She moved away from me so quick that she could have given Phoebe a run for her money! A few seconds later, she returned with this battered looking book that seen better days. "Maybe this will help you."

I sort of took it from her after offering some of dough, but she refused. I read the novel a bit here and there, but I don't understand why she gave me a book about a dreaming girl who realized that she had to face her problems and real life sooner or later. God, what a phony.

Hell if I knew where that Alice girl went. She probably went back to England, the land of all the phonies. 'Course, I can't really forget her after giving me some casual and intelligent conversation. Plus, she gave me some information to mull over.

_Where, exactly, do the ducks go in the dead of the winter?_


End file.
